A Sylar Christmas Carol
by IluthraDanar
Summary: Can a man who has disowned his own humanity be redeemed? Sylar is hated by many, but one man tries to help him save himself, from himself. Based on A Christmas Carol.
1. Chapter 1

**I was thinking about how Sylar could be the Scrooge of the 21****st**** century, heartless, uncaring, hateful of everyone around him. With Christmas almost upon us, I thought I'd redo A Christmas Carol, with Sylar as the Scrooge character. Can he change? What brought him to his current circumstance? Is he redeemable?**

**I do not own Heroes or A Christmas Carol.**

**If you like it, please review. **

**A Sylar Christmas Carol**

Sylar returned to his dark, nearly empty apartment. He went into the bathroom, and washed the remnants of his latest victim's blood from his hands. He usually came to this apartment when he needed a place to stay. Because he was rarely here, the place was sparsely furnished.

Once he had cleaned up, he made himself a cup of tea, and sat near the vent where what little heat the building furnace could muster up found an exit. He warmed his hands on the cup, not because he needed to get warm, but because it seemed the normal thing to do.

He thought about the latest ability he had stolen. It wasn't exactly something he really needed, now what was it? He shrugged. It didn't really make much difference. Once it had been added to his others, he lost interest in it, and the person from whom he'd stolen it.

The wall clock chimed 12 midnight. Sylar knew it was off by 16 seconds, but he hadn't cared to fix it. He sipped his tea, and sighed. Why did he have to bother with such mundane concerns? He was above that. Hadn't he told that fat detective Parkman, whose body he had been forced to inhabit for way too long, that the world was his hostage? He wanted to be like the Roman emperors who had the power of life and death over their subjects. Caligula was the best. Now there was a man he could admire.

Until recently, Sylar hadn't killed vicariously. He always had a reason, whether to augment his powers, or to remove an obstacle. When he had murdered the tow truck driver right in front of Parkman, he felt a new thrill. That killing was to make a point to Parkman, but other than that, it was a death without any real purpose. And it felt wonderful. He saw the fear in Parkman's eyes. What a rush! Sylar wanted to see that fear in everyone's eyes.

As he sipped the last drops of his tea, Sylar heard a noise from the hallway. He put his cup on the side table, and stared at the door. Someone was definitely out in the hallway. Just before Sylar could rise from his chair, a figure slipped through the door as if it were merely an image made of mist.

"Danko? What the hell are you doing here? Wait! Did you just walk through that door?" Sylar narrowed his eyes as he watched his former partner, if he could be called that, stop a few feet before him. If Danko now had the power to move through solid objects, this might be something Sylar could use.

"Stay where you are. I'm only a shade of my former human life." Danko wore his typical black working suit, but he was covered with belts holding grenades, gas bombs and other paraphernalia that seemed to almost weight him down.

"What are you saying, that you're dead?" Sylar did think that Danko looked more skeletal than he had when he'd last seen him. "How did you die? I certainly didn't do it," he smirked.

"No, it was someone else, someone you've met, in a roundabout way. But I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to save your soul. If I had been more caring in life, I wouldn't be condemned to walk the Earth after death. I tried to create another existence, one that was apart from my work, one in which I was ordinary. In the end, it made no difference."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "And I'm supposed to care because...?"

"You will be condemned as I am, if you don't repent of your murderous ways! It's my task to give you fair warning, Sylar. Change your ways, or you will die.."

"Wait, wait. I can't die." Sylar protested, laughing.

"...and suffer eternal damnation," Danko continued, heedless of Sylar's protestation.

"Yeah, so what are you going to do, stand up for me at the heavenly gates?" Sylar didn't notice that Danko wasn't laughing at his futile attempts at humor.

"Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits. The first at 1 o'clock, the second at 2, and the third at three."

"Hey, I don't want my sleep disturbed. Why don't you take your three wisemen and go bother Mama Petrelli. Now there's a bitch who could use a lesson in good behavior."

Danko floated towards the small window overlooking the street outside the apartment building. He turned back to look at his former partner. "This is your only chance, Sylar. I suggest you listen to the spirits, before it's too late." He then jumped out the window.

Sylar rose from the chair, and walking to the opening, peered out. There was no body lying on the sidewalk below, as he had expected. In fact, there was no one anywhere. The silence was almost too loud for Sylar. Then he realized he hadn't opened that window. It was too cold out for that foolishness. He reached up, and slammed the framed glass down with a bang. "Damn idiot!" He must have hallucinated the whole thing. Danko wasn't even dead. Or was he?

Sylar headed for the bedroom, and stripping off his clothes, lay beneath the blankets, trying to get warm. The cold should not be affecting him, so why was he shivering.

Well, well, he was going to have company tonight, he thought, chuckling to himself. He uttered a curse, and closed his eyes. Soon, he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Since this has to be AU, some events did happen to Sylar, some did not. This is more related to A Christmas Carol than Heroes, so don't worry that something isn't canon, just enjoy. Again, please review if you like it.**

**A Sylar Christmas Carol-The Ghost of Christmas Past**

Sylar threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the bright light that was invading his consciousness. He could hear voices singing Christmas carols in the distance. "Who the hell sings at this hour?" he demanded of no one in particular. When his eyes managed to adjust to the brightness, he looked around. Standing in the middle of the bare room, he saw a young girl, one who seemed familiar to him. He sat up quickly in bed, saying, "I know you. You're that girl who can find people. Milly, is it?"

"I am the spirit whose coming was foretold." She stepped closer to Sylar's bed. He could see that she was wearing a white dress that barely touched the floor, as if she were floating just above it. She smiled at him, innocence shining from her face. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Sylar gave her one of his narrow-eyed glares, and stretched out a hand, intending to envelop her in electricity. Nothing happened. He looked at his hand in disbelief. Jumping out of the bed, he walked over to her. "What the hell have you done to me?" he demanded, looking down at her threateningly.

Unperturbed, the child said, "We are going back to Christmas's in your past."

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted. What kind of nightmare was this? Maybe something he had eaten earlier hadn't been cooked all the way through. "Look, I'm not the religious type, so you're really wasting your time."

"It's my time to waste. Take my hand," she said firmly.

Sylar, despite himself, took her small hand in his. Instantly, he felt himself lifted in a whirlwind, flying over blurred landscapes faster than his eyes could follow. Finally, he found himself in front of a plain, wooden house, the ghost girl at his side. He looked at the house, confused.

"Do you remember this place?" the spirit asked him.

"I used to live here," he said, frowning angrily. He tried to turn away, but the spirit grabbed his hand, pulling him forward. They reached the front door. "Now what?" Sylar asked impatiently.

"Why, we go in, of course." Sylar found himself being pulled through the door, as if it didn't exist. They stood in the center of a living room. To the side of the room sat a round table, and atop the table stood a small tree, decorated with tiny Christmas bulbs and cheap tinsel. A handmade gold star had been placed on top of the tree. No presents lay beneath it.

A woman entered the room, holding a cup of steaming liquid. She walked over to a young boy sitting on a couch against the wall. "Here's your tea, Gabriel."

Surprised, Sylar whispered, "They'll see us!"

"These are the shades of what once was. They cannot see, or hear us. Watch," she said, pointing to the little boy and his mother.

"Mommy, where is Daddy today?"

The woman's shoulders seemed to sag under some unseen weight. "Your father went out for awhile. He'll be back later."

"Is he getting presents? Is that why he's been gone so long?" Excitement shone on the boy's face.

The woman didn't know how to tell her son that his father was not out getting presents. In fact, she didn't know where he was. And she didn't mind him being gone either. She ran her fingers through her son's dark brown locks. "Be a good boy, and finish your tea. It's almost time for bed."

"He never did come home that night. Not for days," Sylar said, not without some bitterness in his voice. "She did the best she could, but he gave her nothing." Sylar remembered the one gift he found under the tree the next day. It was a sweater that his mother had made herself. He tried not to show his utter disappointment, hugging her tightly while thanking her. Even though he was a child, he knew that her unhappiness was his father's fault. And he hated him for it.

"Can we leave now?" Sylar asked, but regardless of her answer, he had no intention of remaining any longer.

Luckily, the spirit took his hand, and again, they whisked through the air, flying over ever changing landscapes. Sylar now saw that they were standing in front of a roadside diner. A familiar car was parked to the side of the lot. _Not here_, he thought. _Not now._

"Shortly after, a life changing event occurred," the spirit said, almost sadly.

Sylar stood watching, as his father led his unwitting son into the diner, who while waiting, saw his father give another man money. He was left with the man, and a woman he didn't know. Then his father exited the diner, returning to the car. Sylar recalled the confusion he'd felt as a boy, the fear he experienced as he ran after his father. He stood by the car, and saw his mother brutally murdered by the man who was her husband.

"Mom," Sylar whispered, when he really wanted to scream. In that moment, Sylar was Gabriel and Gabriel was Sylar. The adult was feeling what the boy was feeling. Time blurred, and the pain hit both versions of the same person.

Watching the car drive away, after his mother's body had been unceremoniously dumped on the side of the road, Sylar felt a part of the scene, remembering his own feelings as a boy looking down at his dead mother, blood on her forehead. Why had he never put together the image his child's mind had long forgotten, and the images in his adult life, as he killed for abilities? He felt a tightness in his chest that threatened to break his composure. "Ok, I get it, Spirit. Bored now. Can we leave?" he said, trying to act blase. His raised eyebrow did not go down until he felt himself being pulled by the whirlwind.

The scene instantly shifted to a green lawn in front of an ivied brick building. Sylar recognized his old high school. He saw himself as a young man, sitting beneath a tree, a book open in his lap.

"For a time, you knew happiness, didn't you?" the spirit queried.

Sylar nodded slowly, as he saw a pretty young girl walk up to the image of his younger self. He watched himself stammer a bit, then smile as she sat on the grass next to him. They chatted, about what, Sylar couldn't remember. It wasn't important really, only that she would listen to him, and smile even when he attempted to make a bad joke. Her name was Belle. An old-fashioned name for a sweet girl. He found himself falling for her. His adoptive mom, Virginia, said he was too young, that he deserved better. Gabriel got angry at her for saying that. Belle was special, and he loved her.

For the first time in his life, Gabriel found he had friends. Through Belle, he met Mr Jamison, who offered him an after-school job. There, he met his fellow employees, who marveled at how easily Gabriel repaired items customers would bring into the store. He, himself, would wonder that he could merely look at something, and he knew how it worked, and what it needed to be fixed.

Scene after scene shifted like a slide show, until it finally stopped. Sylar recognized the special holiday party Mr Jamison had put on for the store employees. No money was spared, as he ordered food by the pound brought into the warehouse. He had secured a live band, and had the entire room decorated so that everything was festive. He had the store closed early, so that everyone could join in.

Gabriel met up with some of his friends and Belle, with whom he danced more than once. Sylar smiled and watched, as everyone ate, drank, and sang Christmas songs with less than perfect tone. But no one cared, as they all were having fun. Mr Jamison gave everyone bonuses for working so hard that year. He gave Gabriel a bit more, secretly, saying that of everyone, his work was the most exemplary. He was amazed at how quickly his latest hire worked. More than one customer was very satisfied, and would say so. "Gabriel, I hope you will stay on after you graduate. I would hate to lose so hardworking an employee."

Gabriel smiled as he told his generous boss that he would stay until he left for college. It was his plan to attend college, but in fact, as time passed, and his dream seemed to evaporate, so did his love for Belle. He told her that she should find someone else.

"Gabriel, I don't want anyone else. I love you," she said sadly, tears dripping down her cheeks.

"It wouldn't work, Belle. It's over." He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want to be around her anymore. He had decided he would take over his adoptive father's business, the one he had abandoned as he had abandoned his own family. Gabriel didn't want anyone from his youth to see what a failure he'd become. This was the life he would accept, repairing watches and being a good son to his mother.

Sylar's face showed the turmoil that seethed within him. He wondered what his life would have been like if he had not killed that first victim, but had lived an ordinary life, with his small business,... and Belle by his side. Could he have been happy as a nobody? He made a sound of frustration. It was too late for having regrets. He had tried to start over, but no one would help him, or believe him, when he said he was sorry for everything he'd done. The realization that he had no friends made him angry. He looked at the spirit, who started laughing at him. That only made Sylar angrier, and he tried to physically shut her up with his bare hands. She began to shrink even as her laughter continued, until she vanished altogether. Sylar's vision began to spin faster and faster, until he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Sylar Christmas Carol-The Ghost of Christmas Present**

When he came to, Sylar found himself on the floor, clutching the small throw rug that lay beside the bed. Sylar heard happy singing once more. "Damn, you just won't let a guy sleep!" This time, it was much louder than at his previous awakening. A light shone from the living room, glaring into the bedroom. "Alright, alright, you win." He got up off the hardwood floor, and walked into the living room, where he saw an Asian man sitting amongst a pile of food, as if he were preparing for a great feast.

"Hello, Brain-Man!" shouted the Japanese man, smiling broadly.

Sylar found his face familiar, as familiar as the first spirit had been. He remembered the ability the Asian man had, control of time and space. It was something he had wanted for a very long time. He raised his hand, forefinger pointing, and...nothing happened. Sylar rolled his head and closed his eyes. _Not again_. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Presents?" he asked snidely.

The spirit frowned. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present....Present!" He stepped out from the pile of food, to stand before a smirking Sylar. "Do not act so smart, Brain-Man. We are going to see how others of your acquaintance are spending Christmas Day. Come with me, if you please."

"I do not please, but I guess I have no choice. I will not hold your hand though!" he said, taking a step back.

"Alright, take hold of my sleeve then," the spirit said, then scrunched his eyes tightly. The room began to spin around them, until they were standing in front of a small apartment building.

"Where are we?" Sylar asked, not being familiar at all with this place.

"We will go inside and see." The spirit again closed his eyes, and the pair appeared inside a small apartment living room. Sylar instantly recognized the two people within. It was his old nemesis Noah Bennet and his daughter, Claire. They were standing in the kitchen, Noah digging in the fridge while Claire was making hot cocoa.

"Dad, two scoops, or three?" Claire was stirring chocolate powder into one cup.

"Three," Noah replied, smiling. "I've got the whipped creme." He held the can in one hand, as he took her cup in the other. Squeezing the button, he made a circle of whipped creme atop the steaming cocoa.

"More, Dad!"

"Ok, it's your waistline," he remarked.

Claire smacked her father's arm, laughing. She placed three teaspoons of chocolate powder in his cup, stirred in hot water and gave it to him to top off with the whipped creme. She took her own cup and sipped, getting some of the frothy stuff on her nose.

Noah rubbed it off, then leaned forward to kiss Claire's nose.

Impulsively, she hugged him around his waist. While he held her with one arm, she said, "I wish Mom could be here."

"And Lyle," he reminded her.

"Oh, alright, Lyle too. Can't you call her, Dad?"

"She won't come."

"She came for Thanksgiving! Why not Christmas. She isn't seeing Doug anymore. Please?"

Noah looked down at his little girl, only she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a woman, a woman who was in college, and out on her own. "Ok, Claire-Bear, I'll call her. No promises though, so don't get your hopes up."

Claire waited while Noah dialed her mother. She listened while he spoke with Sandra, asking her to join them for dinner this evening. He nodded, and then hung up. He turned to his daughter, and placing his hands on her shoulders, said, "I'm sorry, Claire, she's busy."

"With what? Why didn't you let me talk with her?" Tears threatened to well up in her eyes.

"This was your fault, Brain-Man. If you had not pretended to be Claire's mother when you went to see Mr Bennet, making him believe his wife wanted a divorce, they would still be together. Now, the family is apart."

"Noah Bennet deserved it for everything he did to me," Sylar said, trying to justify his actions.

Noah hugged his daughter. Then he pulled back, announcing, "I have something for you." He went to the table that held a small fake tree, and pulled out a prettily wrapped box, giving it to Claire.

She opened it, and removing the paper from inside, pulled out a smaller box. She looked up at Noah, smiled quizzically while opening that one. Inside she saw a pair of what looked like diamond earrings. Not large, but still, if they were... "Diamonds, Dad? Can you afford this? Maybe you should take them back." She held out the box, knowing her father hadn't had any luck finding another job.

"Claire...," he said, clasping her hands more tightly around the box. "...you're a young woman now. I got these for a sort of a ...coming-of-age symbol. I am so proud of you. After all you've been through, you are still.."

"What, Dad, sane?" They both chuckled, and hugged each other once more. "Thanks! I'll cherish them always."

"How can they be so happy, when they have so little? Then Daddy Bennet goes and drops a small fortune on something he can't afford. Momma Bennet isn't around. It's ridiculous to be that happy." Sylar couldn't even remember being happy in a way that didn't involve people dying.

"Maybe they need each other, and that's all they need," the spirit said. "Come. I want to show you the true impact you will have on this family. In a future you cannot have foreseen, your actions will all but destroy the love these people have for each other."

When Sylar touched the spirit's robe, he felt the now familiar whirlwind spinning around him, until at last, he found himself in a vast green park-like setting. Headstones and small mausoleums dotted the landscape.

"A cemetery?" Sylar, for all his killing, hated cemeteries. Off in the distance, he noticed a man with a young blonde woman. It was Noah Bennet. Next to him, dressed in black, stood Claire Bennet, virtually unchanged by the passage of time. Sylar walked over to stand next to them. Looking down at the same headstone they were looking at, he saw that the names on it covered two plots, one for Lyle Bennet, the other for Sandra Bennet. "The wife and kid died?"

"Yes, in an automobile accident," the spirit responded.

Sylar watched as Noah, looking much older than when he last saw him, held Claire against him. She was holding a poinsettia in her hand. Tears dripped down her cheeks, even as she rubbed her eyes. Sylar's empathy, born of his taking Claire's ability to regenerate, enabled him to sense her grief. But when he looked into her eyes, he saw a hardness there. She placed the red-leafed plant on the graves, and stepped back. When Noah tried to put his arm around her shoulder, Claire pulled away and walked to the curb, entering a car that was parked there.

Noah looked sadly at both graves. "I'm so sorry, Sandra. I never meant for this to happen." He turned, and walked towards the waiting car.

"What happened?" Sylar asked, turning on the spirit.

"Noah Bennet tried to reconcile with his wife. You took great pleasure in interfering once more. Sandra Bennet was fleeing her husband with her son, when they were hit by a semi-truck. They died instantly."

"What did I have to do with making her run away?" Sylar didn't know if he wanted the answer, but he asked just the same.

The spirit hesitated. Then he said, "You became Noah Bennet, and tried to hurt her."

Sylar's eyes narrowed. Why would he have wasted his time meeting with her, since his true satisfaction had come from destroying the Bennet family? Noah was the one whom Sylar had wanted to suffer the most. Had he, Sylar, become so bored as to want to take that a step further? Making Sandra fear her husband? And what about Claire? For whatever reason, he and Claire were tied to one another in a way he had not felt with any of his victim's. Maybe that was because he had let her live.

"Claire will leave her father, and move far away. She will live her life as a self-trained assassin. Her existence will be one without family, without love. You will have taken away everything that had meaning for her. If these shadows of the things to come remain unchanged, Claire will die."

Sylar jerked around to face the spirit. "Die! How does she die?"

"She will become a killer herself, and someone will find out a way to stop her by destroying her."

"But she can't die. She's like me, a regenerative." To Sylar, death had become something he doled out, but it was not anything he would have to experience himself. It should have been the same for the former cheerleader.

"If these shadows remain unchanged, she will die!" the spirit repeated emphatically.

Sylar lowered his head, thinking on the words he just heard. He had no family. He had lost everything that meant anything to him. Now he seemed to want everyone to suffer as he suffered. The pain of loss was just as great when he was responsible for that loss. There had been times, he admitted, when he felt something other than the hunger, the desire to kill. He had felt needed when he worked with Noah as an agent for the Company. He felt belonging when he thought that the Petrellis were his family. And then he had nothing, nothing but the overwhelming desire to control and hurt and kill.

"One more stop in the present time before I leave you," the spirit announced. With Sylar holding his sleeve, the cemetery faded, and the pair appeared in another home. Sitting by a large Christmas tree was a man, a woman and a young toddler. Sylar knew these people as well as anyone. He had lived in the man's head for longer than he cared to remember.

"Parkman! That loser.....what, don't tell me he's having a happy family Christmas," Sylar uttered in a sarcastically mocking tone. "So he made up with that sexy wife of his. I wonder she didn't leave him long ago." He watched, as the Parkman's played with their boy next to the brightly lit tree. Matt Parkman would lean over to his wife, Janice, and kiss her. Then he would offer a small toy to their son, one they had obviously opened early.

While he was inside Parkman's body, Sylar could have been a husband to Janice, and a father to Matty. But his desire to find his body took precedence over everything else. He didn't bother to experience anything of the family life he never had.

"Time to go, Brain-Man. There is one more spirit you must meet with tonight. He will come of his own accord, in his own time." The spirit held up his arms, and shouted "Yatta!" Then he faded into darkness.

"No, wait! It was to be at 300am. That's what Danko told me." Sylar felt the darkness envelope him. No light shone, no warmth was felt as before, when he was with the other spirits. He had never felt so alone. He started choking, unable to draw air into his lungs. He felt himself fall, as if the very ground beneath him had vanished. When he finally hit bottom, he looked around. It was still dark, dark as ink. When light did begin to infiltrate his surroundings, Sylar noticed a shadow in front of him. The shadow moved towards him. For the first time in his entire life, Sylar felt true, unadulterated fear.

**A/N: I have made a few changes to try and clarify the jump from the present to the future. As in the real story, the Ghost of Christmas Present does jump forward a bit to show Scrooge that Tiny Tim will die, unless things change. Hope this helps.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers, and especially to Brenda B for your ideas. Only two more parts left. I hope to have the last part posted on Christmas Day, as the story ended for Scrooge, on Christmas Day. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A Sylar Christmas Carol - The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come**

Sylar looked up from the ground. He stood watching the shadow figure glide towards him. When it got closer, Sylar thought he recognized yet another face from his past. It was the artist, the one who painted events foretelling the future. He look emaciated, as if he hadn't eaten in ages.

"You're the spirit who's going to show me my future," he asked, resigned to listen without protest. By now, he figured it was best not to fight the inevitable, and just go along with the strange circumstances he found himself in. But of all the spirits he had been bound to, this one was the one he least wanted to spend time with. He always knew his future would be exactly what he wanted it to be. He would have everything, control everyone, and be the most powerful man on the planet.

Of course, there were always people who were interferences. Noah and Peter had been, even that Japanese guy who looked so much like the second spirit. His hated interaction with Parkman really took the cake. He had never felt so furious, and helpless at the same time. The anger he felt at the loss of his body built up until all he could taste was blood, the blood of all those involved. He swore to murder them all, but as of yet, had been unable to make good on that threat. Just to make them all nervous, Sylar had resumed his hunt for those who possessed abilities he wanted.

"So what are you going to show me that I have to see?" Sylar's cockiness had been taken down a notch, and he found himself actually wanting to know.

This new spirit held out its hand, a bony finger pointing down the road. Great purple bruises dotted his bare arms.

_He's a drug addict,_ Sylar thought. His eyes followed the bony finger pointing down the fog-filled road. Together, they walked along in silence. Sylar saw that they were in front of his apartment. "Why are we back here? I thought you were going to teach me a lesson or something. Is that it?" he asked, puzzled.

The spirit only pointed towards the front door.

Sylar went up to the door and entered the building. It was deathly quiet inside, with no sounds or voices from other apartments. He turned to look behind him. The spirit continued pointing ahead. Sylar walked up to the door of his apartment. He raised his hand, and telekinetically pushed the door open. As he entered the living room, he could see that the place had been ransacked. Not that he ever had much, but it was as if someone had gone through every nook and cranny.

As he walked around, checking the room out, he noticed more stuff than he'd had before, as if he'd accumulated some things since he was last there. But with the damage, much of what was left was broken. He wondered who had done this, and why. He picked up a small statue, its origin unknown to him. Anger filled him, anger and sadness. He crushed the useless object in his hand, cutting himself. The wound healed in seconds.

"Why is my apartment like this? Who did this?" he demanded of the silent spirit. "Why won't you answer me?" He went into the bedroom, to find that furniture was missing, and so were most of his clothes. Lying on the floor, he noticed a newspaper, and picked it up. His eyes roamed to the date. It was over 15 years in the future. Sylar let the paper fall to the floor, and went back into the living room.

"What the hell happened here?" he shouted. Completely frustrated, Sylar headed out into the hallway and left the building. He started for the sidewalk, but saw his way impeded by the spirit.

In a micro-fraction of a second, Sylar found himself in Noah Bennet's place. There were several people sitting around the open living area. Sylar saw Noah, albeit an appreciably older Noah, in the center of things. He noticed Peter Petrelli, whose brother Sylar had slaughtered like a pig.

"It really worked! I mean, it _was_ a gamble," Peter said, smiling. Some of the others murmured in agreement.

Noah nodded. "If not for Jason, it wouldn't have been possible." He looked at someone Sylar had never seen before. He sensed an ability in the young man, but offhand, couldn't tell what it was.

"You found him, Noah. If it hadn't been for the old Company files..." an older and thinner Matt Parkman piped up.

"There's enough credit to go around. He's dead, and that's all that matters. After all these years, we finally found a way to kill that murderous bastard." Noah rubbed the back of his neck.

Sylar saw that age had crept up on Bennet faster than the last time he had seen him, when the spirit of present Christmas's had taken him into the future briefly, to visit the cemetery. Losing Claire probably hadn't helped. He and his daughter had been close, at least until Sylar had somehow interfered, and caused the deaths of Sandra and Lyle Bennet. Without his family, Noah had lost everything. Sylar felt that he had left only death and unhappiness in his wake, and it didn't satisfy him anymore.

"So which evolved person did Bennet get this time?" Sylar asked the spirit. "He never had much respect for anyone who had abilities. Just bag-n-tag, as he put it. He even convinced me to work with him for awhile. Well, he didn't. That was Mamma Petrelli's idea. He really didn't even want me to do anything." Sylar shook his head. It was like he had said. When he tried to be of help, no one would let him. And he was the strongest of all of them.

The spirit started to move towards the door. Sylar followed. "So now what? You still haven't told me who they're talking about."

The spirit raised his thin arm and again, Sylar was whisked away. This time he found himself in a room that smelled strongly of disinfectant. Everything was metal, the cabinets, tables, and...

Sylar saw that he was in a morgue. Two men in plastic aprons were working over a draped body. One of the morgue attendants grabbed the foot tag, turning it over. "Who's this one?" he asked his co-worker.

The senior pathologist ran a finger down the page on his clipboard. "Hm, let me check the computer. Hang on." The older man punched the keyboard quickly. "Oh yeah, he's a John Doe. No one has claimed him yet. Two days past the deadline already. Get him ready for Potter's Field."

He was still new, and wasn't quite familiar with the lingo they used in the morgue, but he knew he'd learn it eventually. "Potter's Field?" asked the other man.

"He's being cremated," responded the senior clerk. "No one claims them, we send them to a mortuary.

They two men loaded the body up into a body bag, tagged it with new instructions, and set it on a gurney..

"Just roll it into the hallway. Someone from the mortuary will pick him up. Ok, then, who's next?" The men had already lost interest in the unclaimed John Doe.

Sylar looked at the spirit. "So?"

The spirit pointed at the body bag.

"What? You want me to look at it? No thanks!" Sylar stepped away from the gurney.

The spirit's finger was shaking as it remained in the same position.

"No!"

Sylar found himself in another place, another room. It was dim, cool, and quiet. He saw a man working with a body bag, the same one he had seen in the morgue. Sylar, with the spirit beside him, moved closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. The man unzipped the body bag, revealing a visage Sylar feared more than any he could have seen, his own. He stepped back. "It can't be," he whispered. Sylar suddenly recalled something someone had said to him a few years ago.

"_No one will mourn your death, no one will shed a tear, no one." _

He wanted to shout out, as the man walked over to a wall, and opened a hatch. He rolled the gurney the body lay upon over to the hatch, and pushing a button, set the body on a rolling belt that led into...

Sylar's eyes went wide as he saw the body rolling into a flaming cremation pit. "It's not possible. They couldn't have killed me." He stepped right in front of the mortuary attendant, who did not see him. "I can't die!"

Sylar tried to stop the body from rolling forward, but he was unable to grab the pale corpse. He wasn't really a part of this existence.

Suddenly, Sylar found himself lying on his back, rolling into the pit. _He_ was now the corpse. As he lay there, the heat beginning to permeate his senses, he started yelling. "Give me another chance. I never got a second chance. Why show me these things if I can't change anything?" He felt his arms and legs begin to burn. The pain was incredible. How could he be feeling pain? He wasn't really here. "I'll change! I'll stop killing, and do good for people. Let me live, and I promise to prove myself. Give me another chance!" he yelled in abject panic. Then his vision went black.

**A/N: thanks to all my readers, whether you reviewed or not. I appreciate the support. One chapter left!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Sylar Christmas Carol - Redemption**

Sylar felt himself lying on something softer than the metal table he _had_ been lying on. He opened his eyes, to find himself back in his bedroom, his hands flailing at empty air. The ambient light told him it was early morning. As his eyes adjusted, he rose from the bed, tripping over his blankets which were lying on the floor. As he picked them up, he shook his head. _Wow, that was some nightmare._

When Sylar entered his living room, he was relieved to see that it was exactly as he had left it last night. No ransacking, no broken or missing belongings. He ran fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. Taking a quick look at the alarm clock on his desk, he noticed the date. December 25. It was Christmas Day. Maybe it wasn't a nightmare he'd had. If Danko had given him a warning, he may as well take advantage of it, regardless of whether or not he gained anything from it. First off, he wanted to see if he could do anything for the Bennet family. By bringing Noah and his wife back together, it would follow that Claire, Sandra and Lyle would not die, as the spirit had shown him.

Looking through the phonebook, Sylar scanned the pages in the 800 section, looking for a florist in Southern California who might be open today. After calling several, he found one in the Los Angeles area that was open til 2:00pm, and would be making one delivery after. He went through some papers in the drawer of the desk, looking for the scrap of paper that had Bennet's old address in Costa Verde. He placed an order for a large holiday bouquet, and had the card signed _Please give me one more chance. I still love you- Noah_.

When he'd hung up, Sylar realized something. His heart actually felt light. For once, his thoughts didn't linger on wanting or killing. He found himself thinking of someone else, instead of his own skewed desires. His lips formed into a smile. He had one more call to make, but first, his voice had to sound just right. In a matter of seconds, Sylar was now Noah Bennet. He looked into the mirror. This was a look he didn't want. But for the next few minutes, he would have to be Bennet. He searched for the phone number, finding it on that scrap of paper. He dialed the number.

After a few rings, a woman's voice said hello.

"Sandra?" Sylar cleared his throat, not used to the strange sound now coming from his throat. "It's Noah. Don't hang up! I wanted to talk with you. It is Christmas after all."

"Noah, what do you want?" she asked, obviously exasperated.

"I just want to talk," Sylar said, in his best conciliatory tone.

Sandra didn't seem to believe him, which didn't surprise Sylar, knowing Bennet to be the devoted company man he was. But he had to make Sandra believe that he was turning over a new leaf, so that if she let him, Noah might go along and take the open opportunity to make amends. Sylar wanted to give him that chance.

"Shouldn't you be out chasing some bad guy, Noah?" she asked sarcastically.

Sylar had to bite his tongue to keep from giving her a smart retort, so instead he said, "Sandra. I'd like you and Lyle to come out to Washington. Stay with us. Claire is here too." Sylar would only assume that the statement was true. Claire would never let her dad spend the holiday alone.

"Really? Do you mean that, Noah?" Sandra sounded hesitant, so Sylar went further.

"I love you, you and Lyle, and I know I wasn't the best husband. Please, come out and give me another chance. We're a family, Sandra." The words felt strange coming from Sylar, but he found he didn't hate saying them. He could have had family, if he wasn't what he was, a murderer. Now, he wanted, _needed_, to be something more than that.

Her next words drew him from his reverie. "We'll come out, Noah." She hesitated, then said, "I haven't turned in the divorce papers yet, so...this is your last chance. I mean it."

"I understand, Sandra. Believe me, things will be better. I promise, "Sylar said, smiling the whole time. It was almost fun being Noah, trying to bring the little Bennet family back together. "And Claire will be happy to see you too," he added as a final touch no mother could resist.

"Tell her...I love her. See you both soon, Noah."

Sylar disconnected the call, satisfied that when she appeared on his doorstep, Noah would be smart enough to accept the chance at reconciliation.

**LATER THAT DAY, WASHINGTON DC**

While Claire was finishing preparing dinner, Noah set the table. A knock was heard at the front door. Claire and Noah looked at one another, neither expecting anyone. Claire pointed at the door with her stirring spoon. "Get it, Dad."

Noah shrugged, and went to the door. He opened it, and an expression of shock came over his face very briefly, before he said, "Sandra!" He looked at Claire, who was equally surprised.

She put down the spoon and going over to her mom, hugged her tightly. "Mom, what are you doing here?"

"Well, it was your message, the flowers..." Sandra Bennet said, almost shyly. "When we talked.."

"Flowers? What flowers?" Noah interrupted, before the shaking head and glare from his daughter stopped him. "Oh, those flowers. I hope you liked them," he said, taking credit from God knows whom.

"I did, thank you, Noah." Sandra waited for Noah to ask her in.

Her appearance stunned Noah into inaction. Finally, he moved aside, saying, "Come on in." He looked outside, and saw his son sitting in the car. "Lyle, come in here!" he yelled.

"I wasn't sure...about, well, coming today." She turned and waved for their son to get out of the car. "I can't tell you what a shock it was to get your call. Then the flowers arrived. Noah, I was very moved by what you said, if you meant it."

Noah had no idea what his wife was talking about, but he took the opportunity as it was given him. "I really want another chance, Sandra. For us, for all of us. Here, let me take your coat. Claire, sweetie, get your mom a drink." He hugged Lyle as his son came in behind his mother. Then he shut the door against the cool outside air.

Standing off to the side, Danko watched the Bennet family enjoying each other's company. Sylar had managed to fix what he might have broken, had he not listened to the warning given by his old partner. Danko knew that this family was now safe. And his own redemption was assured, having also been given a second chance. The weight of his life's deeds had been lifted, and he felt light as a feather. With the laughter of the Bennets in his ears, Danko slowly vanished to his greater reward.

* * *

Looking out the window, he saw a light dusting of snow on the ground. That hadn't been there in his dream, if it had been a dream. Must've happened sometime during the night. Sylar washed up and dressed, and went out for a walk. The cold didn't bother him, as it had last night. So that, at least, was normal again.

The crisp air filled his lungs. He looked up at the pale blue winter sky, reveling in the bright sunlight. When was it that he had started preferring the night? Darkness was like a cover for him. It had become his companion of choice. The only time he had enjoyed sunlight, was when he was out hunting the others. A hunter had to go where his prey lived. He buried his hands in his jacket pockets, even though they weren't in the least bit cold.

Crossing the street into a park. Sylar noticed a long line forming beside a brick building. He wandered over, just to see what was going on. It was then he realized it was a homeless shelter, probably serving Christmas dinner. He stood watching the milling crowd, until someone grabbed his arm, tugging him into the line.

"Don't stand there, you'll never get in," said a young girl, her face beaming up at Sylar.

"Oh...no, I'm not here for a meal." He tried to back away, but she held on to his sleeve.

"Don't be embarrassed," she replied. "Come on, it'll taste wonderful. Best meal we'll have had in weeks."

Sylar looked around. "Where are your parents?"

"Dad's died a few years ago. Mom will be up further in line, to get us seats. Don't worry, come on!" She tugged harder at his sleeve, causing him to follow her inside the warm meal hall. Long tables were set up throughout. He let the girl lead him to a spot opposite an older woman. "Mom, is it ok for ..." She looked at him expectantly.

"Sylar," he answered.

"Is it ok for Sylar to sit with us?"

The woman looked him up and down, and after deciding he was harmless, she offered, "Please, sit with us. Your first time here?"

He nodded. He looked around at the people sitting at the tables. So many homeless, so many unable to care for themselves. This day probably gave them the only solid meal they would have for days, if not weeks. He watched as volunteers served each patron a full turkey dinner, as if it were a 3 course meal at a 5 star restaurant. He accepted his almost shyly, knowing he didn't really need it. But he didn't want to disappoint the young girl who had chosen him as her personal guest. The mother said a brief prayer, which Sylar listened to, even if he didn't believe in it fully. He had never been a religious man.

They ate together, with the girl Karen, talking about her life, and how she missed going to school. Her mother tried to shut her up. "Karen, Mr Sylar doesn't want to hear about you and school."

She frowned a moment. "Mom!"

Sylar told her that he didn't mind listening to the girl. It was the most innocuous company he'd been with in a long time, and it felt nice.

When the dessert of fruit pies had been cut up and served, everyone seemed happier, because bellies were full and spirits high. Everyone talked and laughed, and Sylar soaked it all up like a sponge. It was only when he felt a slight tug on his arm that he saw Karen standing beside him, holding something in her hand.

"I want you to have this, Sylar."

"Oh, no. I don't need anything," he protested.

"It's a bear," Karen said, holding out a small ceramic figurine. "Did you know that the bear in Indian culture is a symbol of power and benevolence? My dad was a Native American. He gave me this last year, before he...." She stopped a moment, then continued. "Anyway, it also represents duality of the soul, and resurrection," she recited. " Please, take it. It will protect you."

"What about you? Don't you want its protection?" He surely didn't need any special protection because of the many abilities he possessed, but she wouldn't know that.

"Oh, Dad is always with me. Right, Mom?"

The older woman smiled. "Take it, Mr Sylar. My daughter wants you to have it."

He accepted the small statuette, turning it over as he examined it. Duality of spirit. That fit him. Power and benevolence. Maybe not in his past, but he was hoping he could change that. Was this a coincidence, his being offered this small bear from a total stranger? He did something that was completely foreign to him. He reached out and hugged the girl. "Thanks," he said. He went to put the bear in his pocket, when he felt something and pulled it out. It was one of his many pocket watches. He must have left it in his coat from sometime back. He concentrated hard on it, and when he opened his hand, the watch was now solid gold. He held out his hand to Karen. "A gift deserves a gift in return," he said.

Karen's eye went wide. "Is it real?" She turned it over and over in her hands.

"Well, it's a real watch, and it's real gold. So, yes, I guess you could say it's real." He chuckled at her shock

Karen's mother's mouth gaped open. "We can't accept that, Mr Sylar. Karen, give him back his watch."

"I want you to have it. Sell it, and use the money so that Karen can go back to school." He stood up from the table. "I really have to go now. Thanks for inviting me," he said to the still stunned girl beside him. He let her impulsively hug him.

Then, without looking back, he left the shelter, a smile still on his lips. As he walked down the street, his eyes took in everything. So changing one's nature wasn't as hard as he had feared. As he pocketed his hands once more, he felt the bear figurine, and tightened his fist around it.

It was only the first day of his new existence, but he had more than a lifetime before him to make amends. This was only the beginning.

**A/N: Well, that's it for my story. I hope you enjoyed it. I think it's too bad that Sylar couldn't really change, but we don't know what the writers of Heroes has in mind, so we can only wait and see. Thanks all for reviewing it. I hope everyone had a very happy holiday. Always remember, the spirit of giving is in the heart year 'round.**


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